Why They Are Not
by ZenZen
Summary: Comparison of your all time favourite LotR chracters to random everyday items such as broken lava lamps and rubber chickens. Oh, and did I mention that it was movie based?
1. Why Frodo Is Not A Broken Lava Lamp

Why Frodo Is Not a Broken Lava Lamp 

ZenZen stared doubtfully at her email. "Non-Story?" She yelled in outrage, "My fic is SO a story! You deleted my fic because you thought it was 'non-story'?"

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_Resisting the urge to punch a hole through the computer screen (you'd get electrocuted, she said to herself, plus you probably will have to pay for the new computer), ZenZen quickly gathered up her bags and hurried out of the library. Just as well, since everyone was starting to look at her weird.___

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_"I can't believe they did this to me," she complained to her parents in the car, "it's so totally unfair of them. My fic is a story! How dare they say it's not? Yeah, sure it could pass as an essay, but the italics are all story-like thingies."___

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_Her parents exchanged worried glances in the review mirror, wondering if their daughter had finally cracked. "It's okay," ZenZen's mum soothed the fuming writer, but obviously had no idea what was going on, "you could repost your fic… with more story like properties."___

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_ZenZen continued to sulk. "Not fair… that was my best fic out of the lot."___

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_"Here, since you're so unhappy, and since we still owe you a Birthday present, how about we go to Target and let you pick out something?" Her dad offered.___

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_"Meh," ZenZen shrugged, knowing that she would never pass up an opportunity to ask her parents for new CDs, "yeah, okay."___

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_~~~___

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_Sitting happily in the backseat, ZenZen hugged her new plaything tighter to her chest, her mood improved greatly from how it was before.___

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"Huhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…" it gasped as it felt ZenZen's grip tighten around its body, "let…go… must… have… air… or…else… die… forever… not… live…"

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_The very eccentric writer giggled and loosened her grip somewhat, but still refused to put the plaything down.___

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_"Did you really need a lava lamp?" ZenZen's mum asked, looking doubtfully at the tiny figure in her daughter's arms, "and did you have to pick one that talked? A broken talking lava lamp?"___

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_"Sure I did," ZenZen replied cheerfully, "and this is not any ordinary talking lava lamp either. His name is Frodo Baggins, and he's a broken hobbit-like lava lamp of the Shire."___

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_She smiled down at the struggling Frodo proudly. "Isn't he so adorable?"___

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~~~

Frodo is _not_ a broken lava lamp… yet sometimes I wonder: is he Frodo Baggins, or just a broken lava lamp in disguise? The answer is uncertain, as we cannot dissect Frodo and know for sure what he _really_ is, but in the meantime, I must work hard to convince you that the Ringbearer is not a broken lava lamp.

Frodo is not broken, for one. A broken lava lamp spills its contents just because it's, well, broken. If Frodo bears any resemblance to this, then he'd be spilling his guts (literally) and would be a lot deader than he appears to be. 

Frodo has quite curly hair. And unless you cut off all of it and stick it on the lamp, a broken lava lamp can never have hair (ha! Baldie!) so therefore he can never be Frodo. Even if you _did_ do that, then it'll mean that Frodo won't have any hair left anymore, and he can't be a broken lava lamp anyway.

Frodo likes Gandalf. He respects him, looks up to him. A broken lava lamp does not. In fact, a broken lava lamp can't tell Gandalf from a piece of poo. Even though it'd be quite entertaining to see the broken lava lamp hang on to the poo's every word (assuming that it _can_ speak in the first place), you have to admit it's totally different to Frodo hanging onto Gandalf's every word.

Frodo is 50+ when he goes to deliver the Ring to Rivendell, I'd like to see _you_ trying to find a 50-year-old broken lava lamp.

Frodo got stabbed by a Ringwraith. No matter how hard you try, you _will not_ get a Ringwraith to stab a broken lava lamp. It'll probably stab _you_ instead.

Broken lava lamps need to be fixed. Frodo does not. Don't deny it, you know you can't go running to Frodo and yelling, "you need fixing! Let me fix you! Fix yooooooooou!" at the top of your lungs.

When a lava lamp is broken, you might not want to fix it, but to throw it away. DO NOT EVEN _SUGGEST_ THROWING FRODO AWAY YOU LITTLE- besides, what can you do? Grab Frodo and dump him in the nearest rubbish bin? 

There are (basically) three whole books for Frodo (or more or less, depends on which way you see it), but there is none for the broken lava lamp. While the lamp's feeling may be hurt slightly, you can't really complain. Yes, I vow I WILL write a book for the broken lava lamp, and I WILL marry Legolas, and I WILL become the Lord of Mordor and I WILL take over the world with my Mutant Coconut troops…

Yes my friends, do not be doubtful, for Frodo is _not_ a broken lava lamp. No I don't care what the insane flying purple cows said, he still isn't.__

~End

Disclaimer: Second time around, and I STILL don't own anything…

A/N: Well, it got deleted, because of obvious reasons (read the first few paragraphs). But I am back! And I will add a little story thingie in every chapter, so they have no excuse to delete it. How could they? It wouldn't be a 'list; announcement or non-story', because there is no list, it isn't announcing anything, and there are stories in it.

Okies, I think I've rambled enough now… will post the second chapter in a few days… you know you want it… yeah, it's gonna be why Legolas isn't a Mad Magazine.

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **if you would like to be in the short story at the start of the fic, either email me, or just tell me in a review. Keep in mind that you will most likely be stabbed, shot, amputated, and disfigured a lot, as they do. It is also possible, however, that you might end up living happily ever after with your idol. So if you want your name in this fic, tell me. ^-^


	2. Why Legolas Is Not A Mad Magazine

Why Legolas Is Not A 'Mad' Magazine 

A/N: Thank you to all those who reviewed! I'm getting encouraged… since no one volunteered to be in this chappie, I think I'll guest star again… 

Note To:  Im_A_Brandybuck, thank you for your v. nice review. I was going to put you in this chappie, but I thought you'd be better off with Merry ñ_ñ

~~~

ZenZen sniggered at Legolas' half naked body as she read all the contents of the magazine.

"What's so funny?" he asked indignantly, "is there any reason why I am stuck in a strange world; half naked; have words all over my body and have a teenage girl telling me to 'flip' every few minutes?"

"Mmm, nope," ZenZen replied absently as she read the comics on the elf's bicep. "Flip," she commanded.

Legolas sighed and flipped over so he was lying on his stomach. ZenZen scooted nearer to him so she could read better.

"Wow," the girl raised an eyebrow as she eyed the elf's body, "nice ass."

Legolas shrugged, the picture of Alfred E. Newman on his shoulder hidden by a strand of blond hair,  "I work out."

~~~

There are many reasons why Legolas is not a Mad magazine, yet I will only take the finer points.

First off, physically:

I see no way how Legolas and a Mad magazine resemble each other. A Mad magazine is flat and square, and is very flip-able. While Legolas is not flat nor square nor flip-able (unless he had some strange metamorphic power, but we weren't assuming that!), he is not a Mad magazine.

Mentally. Legolas thinks. In fact, he is quite an intelligent elf, and he thinks everyday. A Mad magazine, on the other hand, does not think. It may contain the thoughts of a few people (editors and artists), it does not, and cannot think for itself… unless, of course, it is a smart Mad magazine, but then it wouldn't be a Mad magazine, because Mad magazines are not smart, so because Mad magazines are not smart, but Legolas is, therefore Legolas is not a Mad magazine.

Third, emotionally. Our beloved elves have many emotions, and I don't see why Legolas should be any different. As he has emotions, he should not be a Mad magazine because a Mad magazine does not have feelings. It does not cry out in pain when you stab it with a knife (try it, it doesn't work), it does not bow in respect when it sees Galadriel… that takes us to out next point…

Movement. Ah, yes, many readers now will say, "ha! A Mad magazine can move! Its pages will be flipped if you put it where there is wind!" Yes, my readers, I cannot argue with that, yet I would be very surprise if a Mad magazine will move by its own accord, in fact, I am guessing that you will be very much surprised too. Yes, I am sorry to disappoint you, readers, but Mad magazines do not move on their own. Legolas, however, does and will move on his own, so please do not yell in fright if he moves, it's what he does. 

And yes, readers, we have come to the conclusion that: Legolas is _not_ a Mad magazine!

~End

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except the concept, that I own, but only because it's really stupid…

A/N: *Bobs head up and down to Tenacious D* wha- oh, right, sorry, got distracted… 

Anyway, liked it? No? Well, tell me in a review, and the offer of you appearing in this fic still stands, just tell me. The first person who volunteers can be in the next chappie, "Why Aragorn Is Not An Onion". (Come on, Ri, this is your big chance)


	3. Why Aragorn Is Not An Onion

**Why Aragorn Is Not An Onion**

Claire looked impatiently at her watch (Gucci, courtesy of Galadriel and Celeborn). Okay, so he wasn't _that _late, but the groom was supposed to be at the altar _before_ the bride, so that when she enters, all the guests can 'ooh' and 'aah' at her beauty.

Aragorn's best man, Legolas, was starting to look bored. He fiddled some with his bow (no matter what Gimli said, he wouldn't put his weapons down, not even at his best friend's wedding), then started to brush his hair, counting down from 1,000. 

The guests of honour who were sitting in the front row also looked bored. The groom was, after all, 47 minutes late, and there had been no entertainment of any form. Except for maybe when a fangirl yelped in terror and scrambled atop Frodo's shoulders because a cockroach was climbing up her leg.

Claire shifted her weight so her feet didn't feel like they were going to snap. _Damn that Aragorn, _she cursed her soon to be husband, _how dare he stand me up at the altar…_

Suddenly, a horrible thought struck her. _What if he got cold feet? What if he decided that he wants to marry Arwen, not me?_

Looking into the crowd, Claire breathed a sigh of relief as she caught sight of the Evenstar amongst them. So Aragorn wasn't somewhere in Lothlorien, having his private wedding with his secret love child as a bridesmaid.

The doors of the church suddenly banged open and everyone bolted awake. Aragorn entered, a small purple onion wearing a cute little tuxedo and a top hat.

"Sorry I'm late," the little onion puffed, "my chauffeur tried to eat me, but luckily I had a toothpick and stabbed him in the eye."

Claire's face broke into a smile as she saw Aragorn was unscathed, and turned to the priest. "We are ready to begin," she announced, beaming as Aragorn hoped up the aisle to join her.

~~~

Ah, yes, my readers, you have come to the most asked questions of all, 'why Aragorn is not an onion'. While many readers may have the belief that Aragorn _is_ indeed an onion, I am sorry to say that no, you are wrong, Aragorn is _not_ an onion, and I can prove that.

We will look at the three life phases of the onion and compare it with the three life phases of our beloved King of Gondor. 

The first life phase of an onion: small and rounded. The onion will start off small, yet it will prove its potential to be a good onion by eating lots of fertiliser and whatnot and making itself quite plump.

The first life phase of Aragorn, however, is not to make himself plump by eating lots of fertiliser. Instead, he experiences birth. While most people will not have witnessed the process of birth, I have quite a weak stomach and will not describe it step by step. If you would like to see for yourself how the Dúnadan was born, you will just have to go to the hospital and barge into a room where a birth is taking place. Or you could just get a cat to impregnate your cat, and imagine that one of the kittens is Aragorn.

The second life phase of an onion is big and rounded. The onion will grow; indeed, it will grow from small to big. While it does not change in stature (I.e. rounded) it is not in its second phase of life as it has changed.

Aragorn's second life phase is quite hard to decide. It will range from puberty to career to marriage and to men-opause (A/N: lol). As none of these resemble big and rounded (unless he somehow gets a beer belly, but he's so fit I don't think that will happen), Aragorn's second life phase bears no resemblance to an onion's.

The third and most important life phase of an onion: furry and big and rounded. Here we are presuming that the onion does not get eaten. The onion will age, and while humans loose hair, the onion will gain fur as it gets old and mouldy.

I do not believe that Aragorn, in his final phase of life (death) will gain any fur. He might after a couple of hundreds of years later in his grave, but that would be his fourth phase of life- disintegration.

With my many convincing points, I hope the readers now understand that no way, under any circumstances, will Aragorn become an onion, or vice versa.

~End

Disclaimer: I dun own anything… except the big round and furry onion.

A/N: another instalment of my insanity *laughs evilly*. Coming up next time: why Merry is not a CD case.


	4. Why Merry Is Not A CD Case

**Why Merry Is Not A CD Case**

Princess Kathryn pranced around the castle, hurrying along the corridor looking for her imported playmate.

"Oooh Merry! Meriadoc Brandybuck! Come out come out wherever you are!" she cooed, sticking her head into the servants chamber, startling them, "have anyone of you seen Meriadoc Brandybuck from the Shire?"

The servants all shooks their heads, but Princess Kathryn caught a fleeting look of guilt flit across the face of a stable hand named Jeff.

"Jeff, have you seen Merry?" Kathryn asked accusingly.

Jeff cowered underneath the glare of the feisty Princess. "N-no, Your Highness…"

Kathryn eyed him suspiciously, and was just about to search the other rooms when she caught Jeff shifting to conceal a bulge on one of the beds. 

"You," she barked, pointing at the boy, "move out of the way!"

Jeff grudgingly obeyed. Kathryn walked over and threw back the covers, revealing a small figure of about 3'6, cowering on the bed. 

"Merry?" Kathryn gasped; her playmate was almost unrecognisable except for the shiny plastic texture of his skin.  "What happened to you? You were supposed to be small. And flat. And square."

Merry climbed out of bed miserably. "Gandalf the White accidentally spilled some potions on me, and now I'm a…" Merry choked back tears, thinking of his glorious CD case days, "…Hobbit."__

~~~

The issue of why Merry is not a CD case has been outstanding for several weeks, and I have thought of it as my responsibility, to explain to you, my readers, why he cannot be a CD case.

Merry _could_ be a CD case, if such things would exist in Middle Earth. But since the inhabitants do not use stereos/Discmans, and have not yet invented the very useful, very rounded, and very flat CD, they will not need CD cases, therefore Merry is not a CD case.

I have discovered many uses for a thing as simple as the CD case, e.g. for carrying CDs (the obvious); for chucking against the wall when you feel frustrated (the not so obvious); or for just sitting there and looking pretty (one use I have only just discovered a week ago).

Merry (here we talk about Merry as if he is an inanimate object) can be used for many things, yet none of these include CD carrying, against-wall chucking, or pretty looking just sitting there. Of course Merry is rather pretty looking, but that is not one of his strong points.

Merry has a social life. A CD case, on the other hand, does not. Our lovely hobbit has many friends; Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Treebeard, just to name a few. Not meaning to hurt the CD case's feelings, but somehow I have a sinking feeling in my stomach that the CD case will not make so many friends, so fast.

Imagine this scene:

Pippin looked up at Treebeard with a pleading look in his eyes. "Please, for all things that are green and pretty in this world, fight Saruman?"

_When Treebeard remained silent, seemingly still trying to make up his mind, Pippin looked to the Empty CD Case for hope that he will say something in order to convince the Ents to fight a war they were not willing to fight._

_The Empty CD Case said nothing._

~If the above scene has not convinced you that Merry is not a CD case, then take a look at this scene below:

"Ho, hm," breathed Treebeard, supporting Pippin and the Empty CD Case with his long arms.

_"Whoops," the old Ent said as the Empty CD Case slid off his shoulder and landed on the ground. Treebeard picked it up and placed it onto his palm, securing it with some Superglue of Doom._

_"Are you alright?" Pippin asked the Empty CD Case, "that was some nasty fall."_

The Empty CD Case said nothing.

_Pippin nodded, satisfied, "yup, our Empty CD Case has always been a man of few words. He'll be fine."_

Yes, my readers, I think I have succeeded in convincing you that Merry is indeed not a CD case.

~End

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the CD case that is meant for looking pretty.

A/N: Yay, it's nearly the holidays! *Does 'nearly holidays' dance* I hope I'll get some time in the hols to write more fic… not surprising if I do, I have no life… *smiles sadly*

Upcoming topic: why Elrond is not the extremely annoying can't- sing 'pop star' whose initials are B.S.


	5. Why Elrond Is Not The Extremely Annoying...

Why Elrond Is Not The Extremely Annoying 'Popstar' Whose Initials Are B.S.

Lorraine looked at the stage where Elrond had just finished his little dance thing. She tapped the tabletop impatiently as she waited for her fiancé to turned up and watch the rest of the show with her. 

"Ah, Lorraine," came a voice somewhere behind her, "there you are!"

Lorraine's head snapped around at that voice, accidentally shattering her martini glass on the floor. _That sounds so familiar…_

"Hey, honey," said BS as she slid into the seat next to Lorraine, plating a kiss on her forehead, "miss me?"

Lorraine was shocked. "Erm… Elrond, you seemed to have developed, uh… rather _large_ attributes," she said, looking pointedly at BS's chest, "and your face… it's looks like… EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"

Upon finally realising just *who* had sat down next to her, Lorraine jumped up and pointed a finger up at the sky. "YOU!" she yelled, "you evil little fic writer you! How dare you!"

_*Eep, sorry, I didn't mean to…*_

"Didn't mean to?" Lorraine was not happy, "You lured me here on false pretence! You said that Elrond was going to be here! Instead Elrond's turned into that damned BS!"

*_Heh… Lorraine, I can explain… see… oh, can't you just sacrifice yourself for art?*_

"No! Elrond and I are getting married the day after tomorrow, I'm can't exchange my vows with _her_ if you don't turn him back!"

*_But… I can't turn him back! Don't you see, Lorraine? Elrond _is _BS…*_

There was a 'thud' sound as Lorraine fainted dead away on the floor.

~~~

'Who is this extremely annoying popstar?' Some readers may ask. I will not name her, in fear of her hunting me down and suing me for millions of dollars, but one thing is obvious: she is not Elrond, and nor is Elrond her.

Why, you ask? Why is Elrond not she? The answer is simple, of course, but for the benefit of my readers who do not have the knowledge themselves to prove that Elrond is not B.S; I will prove to you that Elrond is indeed not she.

If I recall correctly, the last time I saw Elrond, he was in the form of a human male, bar the non-pointy ears and the mortality, and he didn't have certain parts of the human female anatomy like this B.S did (and still does).

As fond of music as Elrond may be, I cannot picture him pursuing a career in singing/song writing. The singing is reserved to Tom Bombadil while the song writing is reserved to Bilbo. Also cannot imagine Elrond singing songs such as 'Hit Me Baby One More Time' or 'Oops I Did It Again'.

_Oops I Did It Again, An Elf's Tale_, by Elrond

_Oops I did it again,_

_I played with the Ring,_

_Got lost in this game,_

_Oh Frodo Frodo,_

_Oops I think I'm in trouble…_

_I'm not sent from aboooooooove,_

_I'm not that innocent!_

Yes, very nice, Elrond… now give the Ring back to Frodo, and slowly raise your hands over your head…

As hard as he might try, Elrond will not get a part in the movie Crossroads, and especially not as Lucy.

Elrond has dark hair, BS does not (or, rather, I think she used to, but not anymore); Elrond is a half elven, BS is not (thank GOD she can't live forever); Elrond lives is Rivendell, BS does not; Elrond is the father of three elves, and is the adoptive father of a man who lives to 210, BS is not; Elrond is loved, BS is not.

Elrond did not have a boyfriend whose initials were J.T; he is not the idol of thousands of pre-teenage girls everywhere; and most importantly, Elrond does not have horrible fashion sense. He will wear a tasteful robe to whatever event he'd be attending, and his hair will always remain perfect (not sure about the tiara, but the look suits him).

Being the Lord of Rivendell, with magical powers, Elrond would be a lot handier to have around the house than BS:

~

_"Darling? The flower needs watering… could you do that commanding the river thing you did with Gandalf?" Celebrían called to her husband as she looked out to the garden._

_"Sure, sweetheart…__Nîn o Chithaeglir lasto beth daer; rimmo nín Bruinen dan in Ulaer*!" As soon as those words left Elrond's mouth, Celebrían heard a rushing sound as the water of Hithaeglir flooded their back garden, washing away the scarecrow that was shaped like a Ringwraith._

_"Thanks, honey… oh and while you're at it, could you conjure up a new scarecrow?"_

_~_

Very useful indeed…

With these rather convincing arguments, I am sure that you now have no doubt as to why Elrond is not the extremely annoying 'popstar' whose initials are BS.

* 'Nîn o Chithaeglir lasto beth daer; rimmo nín Bruinen dan in Ulaer' is what Arwen says in the movie to conjure up that big wave that washed away the Ringwraith… pretty handy spell ^-^

~End

Disclaimer: Still own nothing… though I would love to have the scarecrow *begs Celebrían for the scarecrow*

A/N: *Imagines Elrond wearing a little slinky dress and singing 'Stronger'* Lol… anyway… Coming soon: why Boromir is not an empty beer bottle.__


	6. Why Boromir Is Not An Empty Beer Bottle

**Why Boromir Is Not An Empty Beer Bottle**

NB: here we talk about Boromir as if he were alive… (Why did he have to die? why?)

Sasha looked at her plaything fondly. It was Boromir, the brave one who protected the Ring for Frodo from Orcs. Her sisters had lied to her and told her that Boromir was the one who tried to take the Ring, but she wouldn't listen; her sisters were lying, cheating scums, and they would never understand her love for Boromir, nor would they realise that _Aragorn_ was the one who had tried to take the Ring, and Boromir tried to prevent it. Her sisters said she was in denial when she screamed and yelled at them and told them that Boromir was not dead, but she knew better; Boromir may not have his human body anymore, but he was forever immortalised by her. Yes, Sasha, not Marcia, or Cindy, her sisters, but Sasha.

_All Boromir needs now is hair,_ she decided, and grabbed the Barbie lying closest to her and cut off its mane of brown hair, and stuck it onto the monument. 

'Perfect,' Sasha smiled. It was hard work, but she got through. Now Boromir can forever be beside her bed, always there when she sleeps.

Sasha giggled and turned off her lamp, soon drifting into Boromir filled dreams.

 As she slept, her sisters opened her bedroom door a crack and peeked in. 

'Is she asleep?' Marcia asked, her voice no more than a whisper.

'Yeah, I think so. Man, her reaction was _not_ good. I never knew she liked Boromir that much. All that screaming and crying? Scary stuff.' Cindy replied, thinking of the incident in the living room just over and hour ago, when the whole family was settling down to watch the FotR DVD. Sasha had reacted badly at Boromir's death, and had put a foot through the TV then while screaming obscenities at PJ she ran all the way up to her bedroom and had refused to come out.

Marcia nodded her agreement, 'you think she's over it now?'

'Must be, she looks really peacef- hang on a moment… what's that on her desk?'

The two girls tiptoed over to Sasha's desk, careful not to wake her. Sitting proudly upright, was an empty beer bottle Sasha must have sneaked in earlier, but it had undergone a transformation; it had a brown wig, with a little smiley face, and where the label used to be there was a nametag, which said simply 'Boromir'.

Marcia and Cindy looked at each other then looked at Sasha. She was smiling sweetly in her dreams, all the while muttering the name of her love.

'Boromir.'

~~~

Boromir is NOT an empty beer bottle! No, I don't care if the jade monkey from the moon says so, he is NOT an empty beer bottle, and I, ZenZen, messenger of the future; leader of the alien attacks of the fatty cells on Earth; leader of the terrifying Mutant Coconut troops, have the data to prove to you, once and for all, that Boromir is NOT an empty beer bottle.

Point one. Boromir cannot be an empty beer bottle because he is not empty. His body contain many fluids, such as water, blood, and other unnamely substances. The empty beer bottle does not. That's why they call it the EMPTY beer bottle… see my logic, no?

Point two. The beer bottle has been drained of the one thing people buy it for. Beer. Therefore it is trash, and will be treated as trash. Boromir, on the other hand, is not trash, and if he is treated like trash, has a sword in his hand… bye bye skewered head!

Point three. Boromir got attacked by orcs, the empty beer bottle didn't. Case closed.

Point four. Boromir does not resemble an empty beer bottle in any way. Don't give me that look… no, I don't care that the beer bottle has a little wig and you've drawn a little smiley face on it… 

Point five. The empty beer bottle reeks of beer. Unless Boromir wants to be killed by his wife when he goes home at night, he will probably not reek of beer.

These points may prove this lecture to be a little dull and tedious, but I am sure the following example will open your eyes to the world of fascinating arguments…

*Frodo felt eyes on his back. The hair on the nape of his neck prickled; his heart thudded in his chest; the Ring was warm against his skin.

"Who's there?" he cried, closing his palm over the Ring protectively. No one answered.

"Who's there?" Frodo repeated. He was sure he had heard someone behind him, his or her greedy eyes upon the Ring…

Frodo looked down, and saw Boromir, just standing there, gazing at him and –of this Frodo was sure- the Ring. 

Frodo stumbled backwards. "You! What were you doing, sneaking up on me?"

Boromir said nothing, but his gaze was fixed upon the Ring.

"You cannot have it, you greedy man!" Frodo tried to run away, but tripped over his foot; he tried to put the Ring on and escape, but as he fumbled for it, he sensed Boromir behind him… 

Frodo let out a mighty cry and kicked back abruptly. Boromir didn't even make any sound as he was kicked off the hilltop. There was a crack, and then all was silent.

The Hobbit breathed in and out several times to calm his nerves. Then he peered over the edge carefully. 

There, were the remains of Boromir, his beer bottle body smashed into a million pieces. Frodo felt nauseated. He also felt pity for his former companion: was this the end of the man from Gondor?

Apparently it was.*

…Very graphic… 

So, now after these rather convincing points, I am sure that you will have realised that the jade monkey from the moon is wrong, for Boromir is not an empty beer bottle.

~End

Disclaimer: I own nothing at all. I wish I owned the one Ring though… *hint*

A/N: MWAHA! Insanity is a good thing… join my insanity club! Expect 'why Gandalf is not the Superglue of DOOM' soon!


	7. Why Gandalf Is Not The Superglue Of Doom

**Why Gandalf Is Not The Superglue Of DOOM**

Pippin was confused. Sure, he was _usually_ confused, but this time, even more so.

He scratched his head in confusion and looked at the great wizard Gandalf, lying on a chair with Frodo sitting on top. The image was very… disturbing, to say in the least.

"Uh," he started uncertainly, "why are you sitting like that? Are there not enough chairs?"

Gandalf scowled. "Fool of a Took!" he bellowed, "Can you not see? Some prankster used me to glue the Ringbearer to the chair, seeing as I am the superglue of DOOM!"

"Mweep," Pippin squeaked, cowering under the wizard's wrath. 

In a dark corner of the room, an unseen Merry giggled. Gandalf was useful, yes, _very_ useful…

~~~

I am sure that there are many similarities between Gandalf and the superglue of DOOM, but since they are not as apparent as the couple's differences, I will work hard to prove to you that Gandalf is indeed not the superglue of DOOM.

I believe that we were first introduced to the superglue of DOOM in 'why Merry is not a CD case', where in the second scenario; Merry is secured to Treebeard's hand by the 'superglue of DOOM'. The superglue of DOOM is one of my many inventions and aids in my world domination plans as the general of my Mutant Coconut troops.

Unlike the superglue of DOOM, Gandalf is not one of my creations, he does not aid in my world domination plans as the general of my Mutant Coconut troop. If anything, he will try to stop me from taking over the world, thus proving that he is not the superglue of DOOM.

My superglue of DOOM also does not have long white hair and beard, and comes in a tube. The only tube I can imagine Gandalf in is a boob tube, and that brings horrible images to my head, so I'd prefer not to discuss this topic any further.

Gandalf has a pointy hat, which he uses to do the pointy hat trick*. The superglue of DOOM has not yet acquired a hat, and when it does, I presume that it will not to be used do the pointy hat trick.

Gandalf was the Grey wizard, but after falling thousands of meters into the depths of hell but ending up _on top_ of a mountain, he somehow obtains a white cloak, and is now known as Gandalf the White.

Nothing like that will ever happen to the superglue of DOOM. 

The superglue of DOOM is loved by me, and most likely by pranksters all around the globe, but Gandalf, although he is also very much loved, attracts a whole different crowd. Bilbo, Frodo, Aragorn, Legolas, Merry, Pippin, and so on. These people range from very short to very swift to very noble. I am evil, and the pranksters around the globe just want to have a good laugh, so we do not have anything in common with the Gandalf crowd… (Except maybe that we all love Legolas/Aragorn; and that Bilbo is evil under the influence of the Ring etc.)

The superglue of DOOM's general uses is to fix objects together in an unwilling union (most of the time), and to annoy the hell out of cleaners as they will have to clean the residue off desks and chairs etc. Gandalf's 'uses', however, is not to fix two things together or give the cleaners hell. His guidance is very useful to the Ringbearer and some other dudes, and his pointy hat trick benefits many fellowship members*.

Some other very strong points are: 

Gandalf is a wizard; the superglue of DOOM is not.

Gandalf has a cool looking staff; the superglue of DOOM does not.

Gandalf is a dude; the superglue of DOOM is asexual.

Gandalf is played by an actor; the superglue of DOOM requires no such thing.

Gandalf has a funny looking nose; the superglue of DOOM doesn't have a nose.

Gandalf can understand many languages; the superglue of DOOM is illiterate.

Gandalf is smart; the superglue of DOOM has a negative IQ.

I am sure that these arguments will have convinced you, my friends, that Gandalf is in no way the superglue of DOOM.

*Referring to Cassandra Claire's 'Very Secret Diaries of Gandalf The Grey'.

~End

Disclaimer: I own the superglue and the Mutant Coconut troops, but Gandalf and co. belongs to JRRT, the pointy hat trick belongs to Cassandra Claire, as does the Very Secret Diaries, and I hope they won't sue me for not asking permission to use these stuff… don't sue me! I'm poor! Sue… *points at GELD*… her instead! ~-~

A/N: the superglue of DOOM feels very privileged to be compared to the great wizard Gandalf, and threatens to glue ZenZen to the chair if she does not post 'why Pippin is not indigestion' soon.


	8. Why Pippin Is Not Indigestion

Why Pippin Is Not Indigestion

"Today, we are to be studying the Pippin bacterium and its effects on the human body," the professor announced, looking down at the 20 or so students sitting at their seats, listening attentively.

"Pippin, as you all know, and probably might have experienced-" Collective groan. The professor took that as a yes and continued, "is the bacterium that causes conjunction in the small intestines and will result in discomfort and maybe pain."

The professor cleared his throat and put a video into the VCR. "We will now be watching a documentary on the Pippin bacterium."

On the TV appeared a peaceful village. Little round doors decorated the hillside, and children danced merrily. The students let out a collective 'aw'.

Then, the peaceful scene was disturbed by rough shakings of the ground. The children all screamed and ran back into their homes and looked out the window in terror. From the end of the road emerged a dancing Hobbit, destroying everything as he reached it…

The professor stopped the tape to a room of silent students, some of which were on the brink of tears. "This," he said after a heavy sigh, "is the destructive power of Pippin."

(A/N: Okay, I _do_ realise that indigestion doesn't actually do that…)

~~~

Yes, the much anticipated episode of 'Why They Are Not', when you, the luckiest people in the world, get to know why Pippin is not indigestion.

I am tempted to say, "indigestion is bad, Pippin is good" and end this debate here, but I will be responsible and explain this little by little.

I have a definition of indigestion right besides me. From the Oxford Advanced Learner's Dictionary, indigestion is "pain caused by difficulty in digesting food". Even though there may not be a definition of 'Pippin' in the same dictionary, I am pretty sure that he would not be "pain caused by difficulty in digesting food".

Many of my readers have also helped me out by defining 'indigestion' and 'Pippin'. While most readers describe Pippin as cute and hungry, indigestion is certainly not.

Pippin does not cause pain to a specific person, as indigestion does. I cannot imagine somebody having 'Pippin' and stomach cramps, although it might have been likely, if you were Pippin's mother, and you were pregnant with him. Here I am assuming that you are not Pippin's mother, so, Pippin is not indigestion.

Pippin is a Hobbit. He has hair and teeth. He can eat, sleep, talk and do other unnamely things. He will have the right to vote if he had lived in a democratic country. He generally looked like a human, if you didn't mind the height.

Indigestion, however, is none of these things. It is not a Hobbit; it does not have hair nor teeth; it cannot eat, sleep, talk or do other unnamely things; it will not have the right to vote in a democratic country. In fact, no one knows what it looks like, but we can be sure it does not take human form. 

Indigestion's sole purpose in life is to cause pain. Pippin's sole purpose in life is hardly that. If truth be told, we are not sure if Pippin does have a sole purpose in life, he was just made to sit there and look pretty in the movie (though Legolas will always be the prettiest).

Pippin may not be the smartest member of the fellowship, ("Anyway...you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission……quest……thing……", FotR) but he does have _some_ brains, prior to common belief. He may be "a fool of a Took", but he is still rather cute and loyal.

Indigestion is a strange folk indeed. It has no brain of its own, it is not cute, and definitely not loyal, yet it manages to survive through centuries of trying to get rid of it by changing diets and consuming drugs, etc. One could even say that indigestion is quite stubborn. Pippin, from what we see of him in the book and movie, is not very stubborn at all. He was _acting_ stubborn when he wanted to join the fellowship, but that was a side effect of loyalty. 

I hope the scene below will convince you further that Pippin is not indigestion, or vice versa.

~Renee had a stomachache. She was just having a bad day in general. First she lost her wallet, and then she banged her head on a pole, and now this. It must have been the mouldy cheese at dinner, she was sure of that. Really, her mum should get glasses; she couldn't tell a dog from a vampire bat. 

_The poor girl had been to the doctors to see what was wrong. The doctor had (rather sympathetically) shown Renee a short clip about the Pippin bacterium. It was a little finger-sized guy, dancing like there was no tomorrow. The doctor said that he couldn't do much for Renee, and she'd have to let Pippin dance himself out of her system._

_So Renee lent forward in her seat to try and ease the pain. 'Goddamit,' she said to herself, 'I just really hate having Pippin. Stupid Pippin.' ~_

I have also come up with a second scene to show you the hilarity of the situation, if indigestion were to take Pippin's place.

~Indigestion floated in mid air aimlessly. It was hungry, very hungry. In fact even though it has had seven potatoes and twelve carrots, it was still hungry.

_Sam plopped down next to Indigestion and burped. He sighed happily and laid down on his back, looking up at the sky._

_'I miss Mr Frodo,' Sam said to Indigestion, 'I wish he'd stayed.'_

_Indigestion grunted its agreement and floated in mid air aimlessly, enjoying the peaceful life in the Shire.~_

In conclusion, even though indigestion has its fair share of human/hobbit/elf character traits, we can be sure that Pippin will not pop into our stomachs and cause pain any time soon.

~End

Disclaimer: I don't own Pippin or LotR, and I don't want to own indigestion… you can have it! *Piles indigestion in a heap on the floor*

A/N: yes, I know that wasn't as good as the rest… please don't hurt me I promise I'll write another one that's bigger and badder than any one you have ever seen before! It shall be named "why Gimli is not the Mistress of the POKE".


	9. Why Gimli Is Not The Mistress Of The POK...

Why Gimli Is Not The Mistress Of The POKE

The fellowship was very scared. Actually, it wasn't _only_ the fellowship. Gimli the Dwarf Master was acting strangely; indeed, as he rode on the back of a horse with Legolas, his fair companion, he has not shut up once, and was always shouting something that sounded completely bizarre to the rest of the world.

'Wheeee! I'm riding on a horse behind Legolas! Wheeee! Jenn is gonna be sooooo jealous when I get back!'

Thèoden looked back worriedly. 'Is he quite all right?' the King asked Aragorn. 

Aragorn also looked bewildered. 'He is behaving strangely, but alas, that may be the way of Dwarves. I do not wish to nose.'

Gandalf was most puzzled of all. 'Way of Dwarves, indeed.' He muttered, 'there is some higher power about. One who is powerful, and who is very, very angry at this moment.'

---

A crowd of fic writers gathered around the computer and watched the screen intently.

'What do we do now? How are we supposed to get Kathy back if ZenZen wrote her into Middle Earth? It'll have to be as inconspicuous as possible.'

The one named ZenZen scowled, the corners of her eyes twitching as she followed the words across the screen. 'Riding with Legolas, eh?' she glared at her friend –correction, former friend- who was galloping away into the sunset with her favourite elf, 'posing as Gimli and riding with Legolas, eh?'

As all eyes turned to her, ZenZen spoke up with a slightly hysterical voice. 'Would, erm, the death of "Gimli" be inconspicuous enough for you?'

~~~

If you think that Gimli is a 15 year old high school girl with the very annoying habit of poking people in the flab, then you need not read any more, because I am proving that Gimli is indeed not a 15 year old high school girl with the very annoying habit of poking people in the flab.

Gimli the dwarf master, the son of Gloin, the Lord of The Glittering Caves is by no means 15. Usually, boys will have hit puberty by age 15, but I am quite sure that none of them will have grown such a long and fine beard that Gimli have managed to grow. And besides, the Mistress of The POKE (MOTP) is not a guy (at least, I don't think she is…o.O) and therefore will not grow a long fine red beard.

Being the MOTP, her main weapon is her finger, which she uses to pokes people with. Gimli's main weapon is an axe, which he uses to hack orcs with. Certainly they are both weapons, but they do not have the same properties, and poking people and hacking orcs are two completely different things. For example, 

="Grr, I hate Brownlie-Smith," Jenn muttered through gritted teeth to her friend sitting next to her, "stupid Japanese teacher."

_Her friend nodded and stroked his long beard lovingly, then went back to polishing his axe. "Poke," he said happily, and hacked his friend into little pieces.=_

Very likely, I'm sure. Another example,

=Kathy gasped as she struggled to keep up with the fast paces of Aragorn and Legolas. "Wait… for…me, you two…"

Legolas paused and turned around with a frown on his face, "you must keep up, Mistress, there are perhaps a hundred Orcs on out trail. If we slow, we will be slain."

The Mistress of The POKE tried to run faster, holding a stitch in her side. Suddenly she just collapsed on the ground, her legs not strong enough to hold her upright.

Aragorn stopped and turned back. "Hold onto my shoulders," he ordered, "we must hurry; we are heavily outnumbered."

The blond obeyed quite eagerly, happy at the chance of getting a piggyback ride from the heir of Elendil.

The trio ran on for a few minutes, when they reached some shady trees. "We can climb these trees and keep out of sight until these Orcs pass us by," Legolas suggested.

Aragorn nodded his agreement and put the Mistress on the ground. He took a running jump and grabbed hold of a branch, and lifted himself up. Legolas, however, just stretched his arm up and grabbed a hold of the branch and swung himself upon the branch. "Here," he offered a hand to Kathy, who gladly took it.

The Elven Prince hoisted the Mistress up just in time to see a herd of Orcs pass by the tree, shouting profanities at each other.

"Phew," Kathy wiped at her forehead after all the Orcs have gone, "that was close."

Aragorn nodded, but Legolas frowned.

"What is it, nin mellon?" the ranger asked, jumping down from the tree.

"It does not seem right…" Legolas said in reply, "we have gotten away too easily…"

"Well, these Orc dudes aren't all that smart." Kathy said with a smirk as Aragorn helped lower her down onto the ground.

Legolas's eyes widened as the sound of stampeding wargs reached his ears; Aragorn's lips thinned as he too, heard the sound. The Mistress, however, was still rambling, completely oblivious of what's going on.

"They are coming at us far too fast for us to hide, even if we do, they will pick up our scent." Legolas said to Aragorn, already knowing what he should do.

"We fight." The soon-to-be King of Gondor said simply, drawing his sword.

The Mistress noticed something was wrong, and as she opened her mouth to ask, she heard the sound of wargs screeching.

"Oh. Crap." She said.

Soon enough 10 wargs were upon them. Legolas has already killed 3 with his arrows, but now he had to draw his two short swords.

As Aragorn and Legolas engaged in fierce battle against the wargs, the Mistress had no choice but to stand back and watch. She was sure her weapons weren't of any use; even though it was awfully painful being struck by them, they will not cause anyone any real harm.

Kathy ducked behind the tree trying to avoid being devoured by wargs, and Aragorn will always kill the attacking monster just before it would get her. She hated feeling helpless; she wished that she had a sword, or better yet, a machine gun… that'll finish them off real fast…

"Argh!" Legolas yelled a few feet away as he was knocked to the ground by twin wargs, his two short sword lying just out of reach.

Without thinking, Aragorn launched himself at the two wargs pinning Legolas down, leaving Kathy defenceless to the wrath of a warg, looking at her with an evil gleam in its eyes.

"Um, hi," Kathy said lamely, and ducked as the warg aimed a blow at her head.

"Little help here?" she called out to Aragorn as she dodged around the trees. Aragorn, however, was tied up and could not hear her.

The warg swiped at Kathy, managing to graze her cheek, drawing blood. Encouraged by the scent, the warg roared, showing a row of *pointy* teeth.

"Uh, some breath mints would be nice, but…" forgetting where she was at the moment -so overpowered by the odour that the warg gave off- Kathy treated the warg as nothing but a annoying friend and poked it in the eye.

Surprisingly, the warg let out a huge howl of pain, and limped away, whimpering. This left Kathy just standing there, staring at her hands in disbelief. "Wow…" she said, just a little flustered, "I am getting good at this…"=

Very likely again. JRRT must be turning around in his grave right now, listening to me deface his marvellous works, but, alas, that just proves that Gimli is indeed not the Mistress of The POKE.

~End

A/N: thank you all for your nice reviews! The next chapter will be 'Why Eowyn is not a rubber chicken', which was originally a challenge set by Newmoon. Stick around, read, and most important of all, review! ^-^ Oh, and have fun along the way ^-^

P.S. If you haven't figured by now, I am Jenn (who got hacked into pieces), and Kathy is Mistress of The POKE aka Green Eyed Lily's Daughter, v. good friend and no.1 faithful reviewer… really, this girl is nuts, she has reviewed EVERY single one of my fics… not that it's a bad thing… just saying that y'all should be more like her ^-^


	10. Why Eowyn Is Not A Rubber Chicken

Why Éowyn Is Not A Rubber Chicken

Faramir was very nervous. He was half hoping that the object of his affection will show up soon, but also half hoping that her wouldn't so that he wouldn't have to go through with this nerve racking ordeal.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat and glanced into the mirror just beside him and adjusted his breeches so they sat straight on his body. 

"Ahem," he said again, and looked at the speech he had ready in his hands. "My dearest Rubber Chicken," he practiced saying, "I have noticed in the past few months that I have… very strong feelings for you."

Really getting into it, Faramir got down on one knee and took a ring from behind his ear and presented it to the air in front of him. "Rubber Chicken," he continued, "will you marry-"

"Lord Faramir?" 

Our hero turned around and gulped. Standing in front of him was the one he loved, her lovely golden rubber feathers cascading down her shoulders, and framing her lovely face. "Rubber Chicken," he whispered to the Shield Chicken of Rohan, "you are beautiful…"

Without further ado, Faramir launched into his speech. "My dearest Rubber Chicken…"

~~~

Maybe there will come a day when Éowyn will mess with some mysterious magic forces and turn herself into a rubber chicken, but as of now it stands, the sister-daughter of Théoden, Shield Maiden of Rohan, is not yet a rubber chicken.

Now you can gasp in shock and terror at my words, but that is just the way it is: Éowyn is not a rubber chicken, and will not become a rubber chicken until long after the third movie. (If it ever happens at all)

You may act stubborn and argue that Éowyn is actually a rubber chicken, but how may that be? I shall present you will the facts…

Physical factors. 

Éowyn is somewhat big according to rubber chicken standards. Here we assume that the rubber chicken is around the same size as a normal rubber ducky, maybe a little bigger. Normal rubber duckies are not very big, certainly not when compared with Éowyn. 

Under regular circumstances, if an Éowyn sized rubber chicken walks up to you and challenges you to a duel, you will become very scared. Not because it just challenged you to a duel, but because it is a walking, talking, Éowyn sized rubber chicken. 

On the other hand, if a rubber chicken sized Éowyn comes up to you and tell you to squeeze it to make it squeak, you will also be very scared. Not because Éowyn just asked you to squeeze her (on second thoughts, maybe that _would_ be scary), but because it is a minute, rubber chicken sized Éowyn.

Éowyn, if I remember correctly, is a woman, thus she will have a rather womanly figure. I am not quite sure what gender is the rubber chicken, but from my observations; the rubber chicken is not a human woman, thus not having a rather human womanly figure.

Mental factors.

The rubber chicken is not made to think. It might be the topic in many jokes and weak attempt at humour, but, like its fellow subjects in jokes, Blonds and Irishmen, it does not have a brain and does not think*. 

(*Some exceptions… there are some very smart blonds and very smart Irishmen.)

Éowyn, on the other, does have a brain, even though she is a blond, and she may be the ancestor of some Irishmen. 

Since she has a wish to die in battle, we assume that she has a personal opinion on things, and from this we conclude that her brain is used for thinking, unlike the rubber chicken, who does not have a brain, and cannot think.

The Èowyn-Loves-Aragorn-Even-Though-It's-Inconsistent-With-The-Original factor.

In the movie, careful watchers are likely to pick up some… chemistry between Éowyn and Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Even though this factor is inconsistent with the book, we shall still take it into consideration and compare it with a situation in which the rubber chicken will play the part of Éowyn, thus showing you how ridiculous the idea really is, proving to you once and for all that Éowyn is not a rubber chicken.

(Readers start yawning and clicking on links to go to other fics)

No! No! I'll stop rambling and get on with it.

**_Èowyn: _**_So few! So few of you have returned! _

**_Théoden: _**_Our people are safe. We have paid for it with my many lives. _**__**

**_Gimli: _**_My lady... _

**_Èowyn: _**_Lord Aragorn, where is he? _

**_Gimli: _**_He fell..._

Insert Éowyn's crestfallen look here

Now, faithful viewers of the movie would have recognised those lines immediately, and for those who do not replay scenes of the movie over and over again in their heads, I will kindly inform you that this is the scene where Aragorn falls off a cliff, seemingly dead (another inconsistency with the original), and Gimli is just breaking the news to Éowyn (very subtle too, I might add, master of tact, he is). Now I will put the rubber chicken in Éowyn's place.

**_Rubber Chicken: _**_*Silence* _(Rubber chickens can't talk, duh)

**_Théoden: _**_Our people are safe. We have paid for it with my many lives. _**__**

**_Gimli: _**_My rubber playmate... _

**_rubber chicken: _**_*More silence* _(It still can't talk, duh)

**_Gimli: _**_He fell..._

Insert rubber chicken's expressionless face here (It can't move, because it's a rubber chicken, duh)

That would look very interesting in the movie, wouldn't you agree? So, to sum it all up: Éowyn is not a rubber chicken. 

~End

Disclaimer: if I didn't own anything at the start of the series, do you think I would own anything now? Of course not! Duh! 

A/N: I posted this chapter earlier than expected because I'm expecting Death to come and collect me before next week. Okay, maybe not Death, but a close relative of his, like Brain Death or someone like that. I might not post very soon after this because I've got tests next week, and I might not get time to go on the computer (will be too busy cramming). So, please be patient. While waiting for me to post, why not review? ^_~


	11. Why The Nazguls Are Not Overly Obsessed ...

Why The Nazguls Are Not Overly Obsessed And Screaming Fangirls 

Sophie looked at her bookshelf criticisingly. Why, why couldn't she have a better copy of The Tales of Legolas? She subscribes to _Modern Wraith _magazine, but she doesn't know why she bothers, as the pictures just make her depressed. On page 56 of issue 86749, for example, shows Ringwraith #4, her cloak so dark and her hood drawn over her face so artistically, in her hands were copies of The Tales of Legolas books and DVDs in perfect condition. 

Sophie sighed again and pinched at the hems of her robe. _Oh well,_ she thought, _it's not too big a loss, just as long as I have my dearest Frodo to stalk… _

The Wraith grinned a faceless grin and drew her hood over her head. She thought about taking her scythe with her, but thought that her Morgul blade would be enough to scare the Ringbearer.

After all, even though she's one of the Nine, she's still a fangirl. And fangirls will never scare their favourite characters. Much.

~~~

The Nazguls are not overly obsessed and screaming fangirls because of many reasons, most of which I will list below, and otherwise prove to you in a life-like situation.

How do I know this fact, not being the writer of the LotR books; not being the lucky owner of these characters; not being a Nazgul therefore not being able to know if they really _are_ overly obsessed and screaming fangirls.

The thing is, I know that the Nazguls are not overly obsessed and screaming fangirls despite the fact of me not being JRRT or a Nazgul because the Nazguls are old. Very old; unnaturally old; too old to be fangirls. Of course, there may be some very old fangirls of JRRT from when the books first came out, but since they are quite subdued now in their old age, they are not overly obsessed and screaming.

A typical overly obsessed and screaming fangirl would be someone like me, or someone like Shelly-The-Great, or Ri, who, when high, talk about nothing but how cute Legolas/Aragorn/Frodo/Merry/Pippin/Sam/Haldir is, and throw in an occasional high pitched squeal.

I am sure that many of you who are reading this are actually overly obsessed and screaming fangirls (**if you are, say 'ay' in a review**), and when you look at yourself in the mirror, you will probably not see a Nazgul staring back. Of course, if you do, then I think we can safely class that as a symptom for watching the movie too many times, therefore resulting in hallucinations.

Being dark creatures of Mordor, and being very important secondary characters in the story, you will see the Nazguls many times. You will not, however, see overly obsessed and screaming fangirls many times, unless you were again, hallucinating.

One of the Nazguls has succeeded in stabbing Frodo. Now if it really were a true fangirl, it would never have done it to poor Frodo, who is already suffering enough because of the Ring and all.

This brings us to the next question… if the Nazguls really were fangirls, would they really want to slave around for Sauron and try to kill the good guys, who are probably the sole purpose of fangirls' existence? This is, of course, taking into account that many of us may have tendencies toward evil (who me? No, not me… *shifty gaze*). But, if you are a true blue overly obsessed fangirl, would you _really_ work for an oversized eyeball?

_~~Frodo stumbled around in the dark, trying to protect the Ring from the prying eyes of his enemies. Strider was not here, and it was up to him to see that the Ring was protected at all times from the grasp of evil._

_"Oh, Frooooooodooooo!" The Black Rider cooed, "oh, Frooooooodooooo! Come out come out wherever you are!"_

_"It has caught sight of me!" Frodo gasped, and tried to slow his breathing so the Nazgul will not find him. He forgot, of course, that the Black Riders had that… sniffing thing._

_"The air is rich of your scent, Frodo. I can smell you… do not try to hide from me, Ringbearer, for I know all…" _

_Frodo could do nothing but sit there, paralysed with fear, as the hooded figure loomed over him. "What- what do you want?" Frodo asked, trying to brave, even though he was just about scared to death (poor little guy)._

_"What I want?" The Nazgul asked with a throaty laugh._

_Frodo was surprised to find that its voice was pleasantly female, and surprisingly melodic. "Yes… what do you want?"_

_Instead of replying, the 'Nazgul' threw back its hood to reveal a heart shaped face, framed by long black hair. It was indeed a she, and if Frodo remembers correctly, then she should not be a Nazgul, rather, an overly obsessed fangirl. _

_Fangirl? Frodo gulped. Strider had warned him about these mythical creatures. They were the oldest beings in Middle Earth, and liked to dress up in strange clothes. Strider had said that he was unfortunate enough to have encountered one of these creatures once, one went by the name of 'Ri'; it was this creature that had fainted at the sight of Strider, and when she revived, she had thrown herself all over him until another one of the fangirls appeared and dragged Ri away with much effort._

_The Hobbit winced as he recalled Strider's very words. "It was this creature," he had said, "that stole my very first kiss. One kiss I will have preserved for the Evenstar. Beware if you ever stumble upon the path of one of these, for they are unpredictable, and their stealth and cunning can only be matched by those of the Nazguls. Sometimes I wonder if these 'fangirls' are much more dangerous than the most fearsome of Sauron's warriors."_

_"What do you want?" Frodo repeated, as he tried to edge away from the creature, only to find his path blocked by a tree. "Who are you?"_

_The girl did not reply, instead she let out a squeal that scared away any bird within a 70-metre radius. "You are just SO cute!"_

_Frodo yelped in fright, and tried to get out of the way as the girl rushed forward to hug him. He ducked one second too late, and was wedged in between the girl and the tree._

_"Well, ahem…as for the formalities," the girl seemed to recompose herself, and let go of Frodo to fix her hair, "my name is Shelly, and I want… you!"_

_Frodo detected an evil glint in her eyes, and dreaded what this 'Shelly' was about to do to him._

_A scream shook the otherwise silent woods as Shelly pounced…_

Now, if this overly obsessed and screaming fangirl was a Nazgul, something very different will happen…

_~~Frodo stumbled around in the dark, trying to protect the Ring from the prying eyes of his enemies. Strider was not here, and it was up to him to see that the Ring was protected at all times from the grasp of evil._

_"Ringbearer," the hooded figure hissed._

_"It has caught sight of me!" Frodo gasped, and tried to slow his breathing so the Nazgul will not find him. He forgot, of course, that the Black Riders had that… sniffing thing._

_"The air is rich of your scent, Hobbit. I can smell you… do not try to hide from me, Ringbearer, for I know all…" _

_Frodo could do nothing but sit there, paralysed with fear, as the hooded figure loomed over him. _

_With a roar, the Nazgul raised his blade, and plunged it deep into Frodo's heart…only to have it blocked by a heavy shield, slipped between flesh and sword just in time._

_The Nazgul stumbled backwards on impact, and looked at Frodo's saviour. "Fangirl!" it hissed, "what is your business here?"_

_"If you know what's good for you, never mess with a fangirl who's also a fanfic author!" hissed the black haired girl with just as much ferocity, "no one messes with the mighty ZenZen and the subject of her fics."_

_The Nazgul looked scared, (that is, if you could see his face) and turned around and fled._

_As ZenZen also turned around to go, Frodo scrambled to his feet and grabbed her arm. "Are you really a legendary fangirl, mythical and ancient creature of Middle Earth?"_

_ZenZen looked at Frodo and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'do I really look that old'. Nonetheless, she smiled and nodded. "Yep, that I am."_

_Frodo's eyes widened. "Oh, please, please will you come with me to Rivendell? Come and see the elves?"_

_"Uh, I'd really like to…" ZenZen looked at the faraway mountains, calculating the time for them to reach Rivendell, with Frodo about to be stabbed and all, "but, no, sorry, takes too long. I'd rather go stalk Legolas and- uh, never mind, you didn't just hear me say that…"_

This, of course, is the main difference between the two subjects of our discussion. It is commonly known that the unwritten fangirl code no.1927, clearly states that under no circumstances whatsoever, is the fangirl to harm any main characters of any books/movies, whether it be physically, emotionally, or mentally (This code excludes trying to maul the main character due to strange sexual desires). The Nazguls have no such rule (of course they also have no strange sexual desires about any of the main characters… or so we hope), proving that we fangirls are much better and more superior to them in many ways, thus we (overly obsessed and screaming fangirls) are not they (Nazguls), and they are not we.

Well, I have all the evidence that the Nazguls are not overly obsessed and screaming fangirls. So, to believe or not to believe, that is that question!

Disclaimer: own nothing, all JRRT's, Legolas still not mine…

A/N: thank you all for your nice reviews! I'm now aiming for 150… hint hint. Well, this is the last repost chapter. Next week we'll have why Aragorn isn't an onion II (by request and constant badgering of Ri, of course).


	12. Why Aragorn Is Not An Onion II

Why Aragorn Is Not An Onion II 

Rijia was humming a little tune as she fixed herself a salad. She would have called her husband to come and enjoy it with her, but he seemed to be playing hide and seek with her, and has not been seen since yesterday, right after he slayed an several Orc armies, saving Gondor yet again from Doom.

Opening the fridge she had imported from her own world, Ri was surprised to find a little onion atop an opened can of beer, which seemed to be only half full.

"Huh, that's weird," the Queen of Gondor muttered, and tossed the onion into her salad, while putting the lid back onto the bottle of alcohol, "but perfect for the salad."

Popping a celery stick into her mouth, Ri returned to the stone counter of the royal kitchen and grabbed a knife, chopping up various pieces of vegetable and dumping them back into the bowl.

Picking up the onion, Ri paused as she thought about how her eyes would water if she cut it up. "Neh," she said to herself, and brought the knife down…

The story will be discontinued until the end of this fic, as I am quite sure that no one is willing to read about their favourite King being chopped up into little pieces and consumed by some crazy woman.

So. Why is Aragorn not an onion? 

Onions are edible. Aragorn/s, on the other hand… I am sure that unless one of you is actually Dr Hector Hannibal in disguise, no one would even think of chopping Aragorn up into little pieces and eating him with some stir-fry.

Aragorn may find this a huge loss, but however hard he tries, he will not be able to fit upon someone's palm. Or, if he does, it is probably an action figure of the gruffy Ranger, not the actual fully grown; six feet tall; sword wielding; Orc hacking; Hobbit befriending Aragorn.

Unlike the very much anti-social onion, Aragorn will most likely be a womaniser in times of peace, because seemingly no woman can resist the nonexistent charms of an 80-year-old not-yet-King who is in desperate needs of a makeover. Or a better stylist, whichever one you prefer.

Expanding on the previous point, I am sure that none of you here, Aragorn fan or not, has strange sexual desires to maul the onion in any way. Because, hey, that would just be disturbing…

_~~~_

_"He's mine!"_

_"No! Get your hands offa him! He's mine!"_

_"You bitch! He belongs to me!"_

_"How dare you!"_

_*Slap* *Kick* *Scratch* _

_The four women were sitting in a circle, fighting each other. And caught right in the middle? An Onion named Aragorn._

_~~~_

Being a king, Aragorn has royal blood running through his veins. He is noble, brave, kind, loving, maybe a little old and gruffy, but hey, he has so many other good qualities to make up for it. Gandalf even wrote a little poem about him. _All that is gold does not glitter; not all those who wander are lost _etc.

The onion, however noble and brave and kind and loving and old and gruffy it may be, it will not be to such an extent that is even comprisable to Aragorn. And unless Gandalf has too much free time on his hands, he will not be composing a poem for the onion (which might slightly hurt the onion's feelings, but alas, that cannot be helped).

Aragorn has the ability to create and destroy. If he has somehow acquired a multidimensional travelling machine and he has arrived right here on Earth, he will most probably be waving his sword around wildly (culture shock) at people wearing 'strange clothing' and trying to hack the window displays of TVs into little pieces.

The onion, on the other hand, has not the ability to wield swords and/or the ability to acquire a multidimensional travelling machine and/or the ability to wave a sword madly at passing people and inanimate objects. The only thing in common it may have with the King of Gondor is the ability to create and destroy. I.e. the ability to create bad onion breath, and if this is at a very important function, then the bad onion breath may also destroy reputations.

To sum it up in a few words, Aragorn is not an onion.

Now, back to the fate deciding of Fake!Aragorn the onion.

Picking up the onion, Ri paused as she thought about how her eyes would water if she cut it up. "Neh," she said to herself, and brought the knife down…

"I'm a little tea-hic-pot, short and –hic- stout!" Came a little disgruntled voice from the countertop.

Suddenly remembering her husband, Ri gasped and threw the knife down onto the floor. "Aragorn! My love! Are you all right? Answer me!"

The onion hiccupped as a reply.

Ri sighed happily as she picked up the knife and prepared the rest of the salad, carefully avoiding the onion that was her King. Married life. So many ups and downs. But in the end, it comes to only one thing; her love for small, round vegetables.

~End

Disclaimer: Own nothing. Don't particularly want to own Aragorn anyway. But if it was Legolas, on the other hand…

A/N: I admit, the humour is getting a little thin if you do something twice. It's all Ri's fault *points accusingly*. So. Any challenges? I think I'll do the rest of the fellowship (Sam), Galadriel, Gollum and Sauron then stop. But not before another with the Nazguls. No. Nazguls are cool. I is not a Nazgul. I is not having a long black robe, but I is wanting one. And precious. Yessss, my precioussssss…


	13. Why Sam Is Not A Frying Pan

**Why Sam Is Not A Frying Pan… *looks around nervously*… of DOOM!**

Ahem. Yes. I'm normal. Anyway. Off that topic, because I'm sure that none of you came here to listen to me ramble on about how 'normal' I am. Which most of you would know that I'm not. Normal, that is…

YARRGH! 

Okay. Ignore the above sentences, and just pretend that I'm normal. You are reading a completely normal person convince you of something completely normal.

Of course I'm sure that it is completely normal to think of Sam as a frying pan. In fact, on more than one occasions, I have wondered if Sam is actually a frying pan, myself. But, Sam and the frying pan... they may seem very alike when compared, but I (along with the help of faithful sidekick Green Eyed Lily's Daughter) have set out to prove this theory false, as we know that this common idea is actually a big misconception.

The basic physical differences between the two are very apparent; it would be very interesting indeed, to envision a not-very-normal, Hobbit sized frying pan accompany Frodo in his journey to destroy the one Ring.

With the help of my faithful sidekick, we have composed a list that describes your average frying pan.

-Can be used to fry tasty things, like bacon, eggs, tomatoes and (not so tastily) younger siblings' treasured possessions.

-Can be used as a weapon against aforementioned siblings when they find out that used the said frying pan to burn their "Mr. Marbles" into a crispy piece of fluff.

Whereas, the uses of Sam vary greatly to that of the frying pan.

- To be loyal to Mr. Frodo

- To follow Mr. Frodo around like a lovesick puppy

- To make sure that Mr. Frodo doesn't drown himself

- To act very over protective of Mr. Frodo

- To say evil things to Gollum behind Mr. Frodo's back

- To be a generally nice guy... but mainly to Mr. Frodo

- To be a very polite Hobbit, but only to Mr. Frodo

- To help Mr. Frodo avoid giant man eating spiders

- To name his first child after Mr. Frodo

- To never speak badly of/to Mr. Frodo. Because then he wouldn't be 'Mr. Frodo's Sam'

…And et cetera. Sam's life is very much centered about Mr. Frodo, who, likewise, welcomes Sam's company just as much. Now, if Frodo were to snuggle in his sleeping bag with a frying pan, it would seem very odd indeed. (In fact, if Frodo were to snuggle in his sleeping bag with Sam, it would also seem very odd indeed)

If Sam were to be a frying pan, then he'd have eggs for eyes, and a strip of bacon for a mouth. Which, though would look very interesting, would be otherwise disturbing, especially if Frodo was to get hungry…

Personality wise. Though Sam may not have much of a life besides the aforementioned uses, it is highly doubtful that the frying pan may have much of a life besides the aforementioned uses either. By process of elimination, since Sam has more and better uses than the frying pan, therefore the frying pan must the one with less personality, therefore less useful, therefore different to Sam, therefore, not Sam. It's a simple rule, but would anyone believe _moi?_

Perhaps the scene below will proceed to convince the more stubborn of my readers…

_"__Mordor. The one place in Middle Earth we don't want to see any closer. It's the one place we are trying to get to. It's just where we cant get. Let's face it Mr. Frodo. We're lost. I don't think Gandalf meant for us to come this way." Came a muffled sound from inside Frodo's backpack._

_Frodo jumped and yelled in fright. "Sam! Didn't I tell you not to do that?"_

_"Sorry, Mr Frodo…"_

_An unpleasant stink suddenly wafted out from nowhere, kind of like when you walk too close to a rubbish bin that has a dead mouse in it rotting for days._

_"What is that smell?" Frodo wondered, and looked around._

"Those thieves! Those filthy little thieves! Wheeere isssit? Wheeere isssit? They stole it from us. My preciousssss!"

_Now alarmed, Frodo whipped Sam out from his backpack and held it in front of him in a protective stance. Sam liked it when Mr. Frodo held his handle; it gave him a sense of… security._

_Gollum attacked._

_KABANG!_

_So did Frodo._

_"This is Sam. You've seen him before, haven't you, Gollum? Show us to the Black Gate, or I'll use him again."_

_"It stingssssss usssssssss! No more!" Gollum begged, as Frodo tied a makeshift leash around his neck, "I sssswear on the preciousss, I will lead you to Mordor… masssster…"_

_The eggs narrowed into a thin strip. Sam didn't trust Gollum. And the way that the creature said 'master'. He hoped that Mr. Frodo wouldn't trust Gollum. But as long as Gollum travels with them, then Mr. Frodo will be holding him in his hand. Which… could be considered as a sort of compensation, Sam supposed._

_The strips of bacon slowly curved upwards. To always have Mr. Frodo gripping his handle tightly… not bad, Sam thought, not bad at all…_

Though a little disturbing and suggestive (_now_ you know why Sam named his first child 'Frodo'), I am sure that I have gotten the point across. Sam was not, is not, and will not be a frying pan (of DOOM). Ever. 

Unless Gandalf gets pissed and changes him into 'something unnatural'. Then that would be Gandalf's fault, not mine. 

~End

Disclaimer: Own nothing yadda yadda yadda. 

AN: I'm sorry for the really late update, but I'm really thinking of abandoning ship… if you want just a couple more, then review and say so. If not… review and say so anyway…

P.S. **Green Eyed Lily's Daughter** is thanked (and to be held responsible) for the inspiration for many things (the points of the arguments, the idea for the short scene).


	14. Why Galadriel Is Not A Pair of Smelly So...

A/N: And here I thought that I'd never write another chapter of WTAN again. Most likely from now on I'll update whenever I feel like. Damn school.

So anyhow. I am back! Enjoy the new chapter!

Why Galadriel Is Not A Pair of Smelly Socks 

Everyone knows it's like a rule of the universe to find a pair of really your smelly sock underneath your bed just after you finish doing the laundry. 

Essentially, Galadriel is not one of those annoying socks. Unless you are so obsessed with the Elf Queen you have started hallucinating. 

To be Galadriel is to be noble, elegant, wise and be doing a film negative freak out at the sight of the Ring. She is also very cool. 

Smelly socks are not cool. However they can be cool lookin' smelly socks, but that's besides the point, because smelly socks cannot be noble, elegant, wise, and they cannot do a film negative freak out at the sight of the Ring.

Galadriel and smelly socks are two polar opposites. They shouldn't be in the same sentence together. In fact, I'm not sure why the hell I put them on the same line. Bad ZenZen! 

I think I have rambled on enough and have not yet reached the centralised idea for this rant: why? The question will prove tricky to answer.

First we must study the compositions of the two separate entities. 

Well, Galadriel is made up of flesh and blood and magic. I'm sure if someone tries to kill her, before you even get within 20 metres, you'll be blasted into oblivion and spend the rest of your life in hundred of tiny jars wondering why you were so stupid.

On the other hand the smelly socks have no way of defending themselves. They are made up of wool, which comes from sheep. If they were a pair of lucky smelly socks, they may have different patterns, and perhaps colours other than 'white'. That makes them considerably more complicated inanimate objects, but they cannot match the wonder that is Galadriel.

Secondly lets look at the different lifestyles of the two.

Galadriel, leader of a whole lot of elves, wife of Celeborn, immortal creature with pointy ears. Considerably taller than Hobbits. Able to reproduce by means of… something. (Sex, most likely. But you never know how these elves have sex… anyway, moving on.)  Most importantly, we assume that Galadriel take baths frequently and try her best to look Queenly, and that includes not to smell (bad). She could smell good. Yes. In fact, it's probable that she smells good.

Smelly socks, not the leader of a whole lot of elves, not the wife of Celeborn (it could, in fact be the husband of Celeborn, if Celeborn was into that sort of stuff…), could be immortal (but it's doubtful) without pointy ears. Considerably shorter than Hobbits. Unable to reproduce. Period. And of course, where would smelly socks be if they didn't smell?

~~~

Celeborn woke up in the wrong side of bed that morning. He looked everywhere but he could not find his wife. Perhaps she has gone off somewhere doing something mystical, as they do. He just hoped it wasn't another one of her psychotic film negative freak outs. 

It was all Frodo's fault, Celeborn swore. Ever since the Fellowship passed by Lorien, Galadriel would have a freak out every time anything small, round and ring-like in shape was presented. He had to get rid of their wedding ring, because every time Galadriel's hand passed her eyes she would have a freak out. It scared people.

Celeborn pulled on a pair of his warm woolly socks and his spiffy leather boots. The boots had been a present from his daughter. He had always fancied leather, but was too embarrassed to admit it. After all, only gruffy rangers like Aragorn and lowly human kings like Aragorn wore them. Of course owners of Elvish jewellery like Aragorn wore them as well, but just because they owned Elvish jewellery doesn't make them all upper class and sophisticated. And everyone knew that being upper class and sophisticated was the first step towards being a _true_ elf.

It was the first day he was allowed to wear his boots, after that _incident_ Galadriel wasn't too happy about a couple of thousand years ago. But he had kept the shoes in good condition. He even polished it every second day, just to keep its shine.

Anyhow. He was getting distracted. He should go and find Galadriel to discuss… matters. She had only bore him one heir in thousands of years. It was ridiculous. Even his prick of a son-in-law had three children.

Plus, he missed the sex.

()()()

Well, one whole day with no sign of his wife. Celeborn felt dejected. It was like she was avoiding him. Everywhere he went, he _felt_ that Galadriel was just there a moment ago.

Ah well. She would _have_ to come back to bed sometime.

Celeborn kicked off his shoes and laid in bed, resting his legs. He really was getting old (of course, we _all_ know that's not possible), just one day of walking around, he sweat enough for his feet to stink really, really badly. And his feet never smelt before.

Celeborn closed his eyes and rested. He heard a little squeaking noise coming from the other end of the bed. It sounded remarkably like someone yelling something like _'buggerityoustupidbastardtakemeoffthisinstantori'llblastyouintooblivionyoudaftbuggeryoui'mthesock!I'mthesock!onyourfeet!'_

Celeborn jolted awake. _Crap,_ he thought, hurriedly getting up and taking off his socks, _Gladys' not going to like this._

When he was finally able to peel his socks off, he was relieved to find that it wasn't his feet after all… _it was the sock, all along…_

His relief didn't last long. Not long at all. 

But at least he was right about one thing. Gladys did _not_ like it one little bit.

()()()

That night Haldir went to find the Queen. He had some important things to tell her. The enemy land was invading. And knowing her weakness, every one of them was _covered_ in rings. Rings, earrings, eyebrow rings, nose rings, lip rings, nipple rings, toe rings… you name it, they've got them all.

The captain stopped in front of the King and Queen's hut and listened before he knocked. And it was a good thing that he paused, too. 

"You daft bugger! You were wearing me on your feet the whole day!" came a little squeaky voice Haldir recognised as the Queen.

"Sorry, Gladys."

"_Sorry? Sorry?_ It that all you can say after me being trapped all day in your bloody stuffy leather boots? And didn't I tell you to get rid of them anyway? Don't you remember the last time you mistook me as a pair of normal clean socks? I've been shouting at you '_I'm down here! Take me off!'_ for the whole bloody afternoon!"

"Well, it was my first day in my boots… I got a little excited…"

"Excited? At the expense of me? Well that does it, Celeborn. You are now banned from wearing your leather shoes ever again."

"Oh. Well, that's quite reasonab-"

"And no sex for 2,000 years. That should teach you."

Even from outside, Haldir could feel Celeborn's pain. It radiated off him in gallons. 

_Ah well,_ he thought, and raised his hand to knock the door. But he checked for any ring-shaped things on his first. Wouldn't do for Galadriel to have another one of her film negative psychotic freak outs.

~~~

And with the conclusion of that story, our point is well and finally proven.

~End

Disclaimer: if I didn't own anything at the start of the series, why should I own anything now? Though, I s'pose that I could've won the lottery and bought the rights to LotR and all of its characters and- hey… this is giving me an idea… *goes off to buy a lottery ticket*

A/N: that wasn't so hard. Finished that in a quick 30-minute session. I'm on fire! ^_^

Also, please note that **it's my birthday in a week and some!** So. Reviews as B'Day presents are very welcomed. Reviews as just reviews are very welcomed too!


	15. Why Faramir Is Not A Bar of Soap

**Why Faramir Is Not A Bar of Soap**

Arwen often complained that her husband did not care about personal hygiene. And she was right, partly, seeing as the ex-Ranger did not know what the term meant, and it was impossible to care about something you didn't know the meaning of.

Still, it was not a pleasant experience, having to share a bed with a man whose next bath was scheduled to be taken in three years time. It was busy work, being King, but that didn't mean that there wasn't enough time to make himself smell nice.

So, taking a leaf out of her grandmother's book (_see previous chapter_), Arwen had told Aragorn that if he didn't take a bath at least once every three days, she would refuse to have sex with him.

Aragorn was perhaps the first man to be threatened like this (but he sure as hell wasn't the last); normally it was only the elven kind who had to deal with that- elven males have come up with failsafe ways to get around the problem, but they weren't ready to share their trade secrets with humans just yet- so Aragorn had no choice but to do as his wife demanded.

The first few baths were rather peculiar experiences, but he got used to them soon. The prickly sensation he got whenever he used his special Kingly soap quickly subsided to a pleasant tickle. Baths really weren't so bad, Aragorn mused as he scrubbed between his toes with his special Kingly soap, and being clean was definitely a positive experience- he had gotten rid of the dirt, and could almost see the _real_ colour of his skin now; he was just as surprised as the next person to find that he _wasn't_ naturally tanned.

It wasn't long before Aragorn got addicted to bathing, and started to take daily ones. Arwen wouldn't have minded, normally, until he started to spend more time in the bath than he spent in the bedroom. Plus she really was not a fan of wrinkly fingers and toes.

When confronted by the Queen, Aragorn just tapped his nose in a very knowing way and evaded her questioning, which annoyed her a lot.

So in the end she decided that she would take a bath with Aragorn, just to see why he liked it so much.

The next day, Arwen waited until Aragorn rose to take a bath, then followed him to his Kingly bathing chambers, where she watched him take off all his clothing, then went through the door to a steamy room.

At first she thought the steam was making her see double, but the next moment it became clear to her that she was not seeing two Aragorns, but rather, one Aragorn… with another man!

Before she could open her mouth to screech at that pathetic, cheating, filthy piece of scum, Aragorn spotted her, and gave her a smile. The nerve of that man, Arwen thought as she stomped over, eyeing the King with malice in her eyes. "What is the meaning of this?" She tapped her foot, waiting to hear his excuse.

Aragorn was still grinning. He pointed at the other man, who had strawberry blond hair and had done nothing so far except sit there with a nervous smile on his face. "This was a present from your father," he started to explain, and cut Arwen off as she opened her mouth to say something. "It is from a foreign land, a place called 'Australia', wherever that may be.

"Elrond said that it was only fit for a King," Aragorn looked smug as he said this. "He also said that this kind of thing was called 'soap'. But I've decided to name mine; it would feel much more personal."

Skeptical still, Arwen glanced at the 'soap'. It did look rather exotic.

Aragorn seemed to sense Arwen's confusion. "Try it," he suggested, taking the hand of the 'soap' and used it to caress his shoulder. A lot of white foam appeared.

Coming to a quick decision, Arwen peeled off her clothes and stepped into the bath. She followed her husband's example and held a limb of the 'soap' to her stomach and rubbed it in gently. It felt lovely, and foam appeared, just like it did for Aragorn. Arwen giggled. The 'soap' looked less nervous now.

"It's shy," Aragorn explained as he slid the 'soap's arm across his chest.

Arwen did the same thing to her back. She was starting to get quite fond of this foreign thing.

"You said you gave it a name," she asked, curious. "What did you name it?"

"Faramir," Aragorn beamed at his wife and the 'soap', which was sitting between them.

"Faramir?" Arwen studied the 'soap' as it beamed back at the King. "It is a very fitting name," she mused.

How many of you wish that you were in Aragorn or Arwen's position? I know I do. If Faramir really was a bar of soap, I'd never come out of my bathroom. Ever. All hell could break loose outside, but everything would be okay as long as I have Faramir the soap with me.

Instead I am sitting in front of my computer, writing a new chapter of my fic that doesn't seem to be going anywhere real soon. It's an enjoyable task, but if Faramir were a bar of soap, the alternative would be so much more enjoyable. _So_ much more.

The Steward of Gondor, better known as Faramir, spawn of Denethor and brother of Boromir, is a person many a fangirl fantasize about on a weekly- if not daily- basis. The object of our affect is a handsome man of great caliber with a head of lovely strawberry blond hair and a pair of gorgeous blue eyes and such kissable lips, as well as a body to put Fabio to shame.

To describe a bar of soap, however, is a great deal less exciting. It's small, and usually rectangular; it has no hair, no eyes- in fact it has to face to speak of, unless you're like me and carve faces onto their soap when they're bored. It gets slippery when wet.

(**Public Service Announcement**: I am _not_ going to say the words 'Faramir' and 'wet' in the same sentence, as that sentence will be sure to compromise the PG rating of this fanfiction. In fact, I think I've already said too much. Er. Thank you, that is all.)

One of those fancy new age soaps that are all the rage right now may share one or two similarities with Faramir, such as a soap may be the same lovely colour of his hair, or his eyes, or his skin. If we gather enough of these different types of soap, perhaps we can make a Soap Man that looks like Faramir, but it remains that the constructed Soap Man will not be able to eat, drink, take baths, or cuddle people, as the _real_ Faramir is able to do. And if we attempted to stay in the bathroom with Soap Man, after a period of time, he will dissolve, and we hope that such a travesty like that should never occur to Faramir.

As much as it pains me to admit it, with Faramir's hectic lifestyle and the whole 'grr, arrgh I must kill orcs' thing going on, it is quite possible that personal hygiene is not high on his agenda either. It follows that at times, he may get a little… smelly. Soaps, on the other hand, tend to stay smelling satisfactory at all times, because after all, it's what they're made for.

And even though I wish it were true, Faramir is not, has never been, and will never be a bar of soap; it's a fact that I've learnt to accept over the years. For those of you who think otherwise… I can offer you nothing more than a pat on the back and a phrase I've heard from a friend, "Denial is not only a river in Egypt".

End

A/N: Phew. The last chapter of this fic was written how many months ago? Nearly one year, methinks. O.o Can't promise I'll be back full time- this chapter was done because plot bunnies were rampaging and won't leave me alone. Hope you guys like it :)

**Edit1**: Screwed up the formatting. Yay for that.


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